Gloomy Sunday
by Israfel.R
Summary: In the events of a Transsexual hate crime, Sherlock opens up to his only true friend. FtM!Sherlock/John


_Warnings: Hate crime, transphobia, blood, gore, and "graphic detail". Oh and that it is self edited._

_Pairing: eventually Sherlock/John_

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><p>It was the cool summer day when I went out to get some shopping done, but on the cab drive home it started to pour non-stop. Groaning, I hand over the money to the cabby and rush into my flat. Shaking my head dry from the rain, I walk up the stairs seeing Sherlock has left the door open. Walking in, I see him staring out the window, which is different from when I left as he was laying on the couch bored out of his mind. Frowning, I walk to the kitchen to start putting away the food.<p>

I keep glancing back at him, confused on why Sherlock is just standing there staring outside. "It's a shame it started to rain, it was such a nice day out." I inform him, trying to make some small talk in hopes to pull him from his bored mood.

He doesn't answer back, which makes me wonder if he was listening. I take it as a no, as he turns around and goes upstairs. Shaking my head, I put the rest of the food away.

Being Sherlock's flatmate is really troublesome. I do enjoy the cases and the thrill of the chase, but being with him isn't exactly like being friends with other people. I can hardly say Sherlock and I are friends since I hardly know anything about him, while in fact he probably knows everything about me. He never seems to even pay attention to me when I try talking to him. Small talk is dull, he says, but I rather have that than nothing at all. Sitting in the living room chair, I notice my laptop nearby and used. I roll my eyes up, glaring slightly at the thought of him using my things without asking. This habit of his is getting rather annoying.

Sherlock rushes down the stairs, pulling his coat on. "John, there has been a murder." He grins, excited like a little kid in a candy store.

I can't help but smile back, not because it's a murder or anything morbid because when Sherlock smiles it warms me up... Not that I have feelings for him. He's been bored out of his mind lately and I do not think Mrs. Hudson's wall can take any more damage. Standing up, I follow him down the flight of stairs while pulling my jacket on.

"This is brilliant!" He grins, as we enter a cab. "Lastrade said it is unusually violent. Hmmm, I wonder what it is."

It's like Sherlock became a young boy, the excitement in the air is infections as I smile at him. "Hopefully it is not too violent." I try to calm him down and make him see that this isn't some kind of game. "It must be heart breaking for the family of the person."

"Oh, hush, John." He almost pouts, looking out the window. "Hm, it might not even be that..." He trails off, his head following something outside. He takes out his Blackberry, texting away at a high speed while a frown gracing his pale face.

"Something wrong?" I frown at the sudden mood swing. He doesn't answer as he looks back outside and taking the surrounds in, as if he knows the place. "Sherlock?" I whisper, deeply confused.

The cabby pulls over; Sherlock rushes out as I am left to pay the woman. I job over to my flatmate who seem in a bit distress. This is quite odd, at least for him. Lastrade comes over, stress written all over his face as the rain pours down.

"Situation?" Sherlock's voice is null of all life, cold and professional.

"Female, no ID, face is craved up as is the chest and pelvic area, and the house was not broken into." The DI says, frowning. There are photos of the couple, but the female vic does not appear in the photos."

Sherlock walks pass him, nodding in understanding as we walk into the home. "Is the housemate around?"

"We connected her awhile ago, she is at work."

Sherlock picks out a photo on the hallway wall and stops walking all together that I collide into him, but he is as stiff as marble and doesn't flinch. Lastrade, who is behind me, calls out to Sherlock.

"You okay?" I ask, touching his shoulder but he violently jerks away. "Sherlock?" I frown, but do not try to touch him again.

"I know him." He mutters, shaking his head slightly. "Lastrade, you are mistaken, the victim is male."

"Sherlock, I saw the body, it is a woman."

He shook his head, black curls moving out of place. "A set of keys are left here, the photos does not show another woman, the home was not broken into, and I know this man." He turn to us, his blue eyes iced and cold as he glares at us. He hands over the photo to me, I glance down at a happy couple. "Where is his body?"

Lastrade moves to the front, showing us the way. Sherlock is stiff while he walks and I cannot help but stare back down at the photo. The man was thin, short Ginger. He was probably shorter than I as the woman is about my height. He looks calm and a bit shy for having his photo taken, but the woman's arm is around him as if to calm his nerves. They are standing in front of their home; probably they had just bought it during the time the photo was taken.

"You might want to put some scrubs on." Lastrade says, halting before the stairs. "It's rather... Gruesome."

Nodding, I place the frame down and quickly scrub up. I look up to see Sherlock making his way up the stairs not caring. Sighing, I send an apologetic look to the DI who just shrugs without a care. "She, I mean he, is in the second room to the left!" Lastrade shouts out to Sherlock and nods to me to move on.

I rush up the flight, moving to the open door that the crime had happened and, in which, Sherlock is just standing at the doorway. I call out to him but he does not answer me. Moving closer, I try to pick around his tall frame but I could not see the body though I can see blood sprayed all over the floors and wall. "My God."

"This is a hate crime." Sherlock confirms, walking into the room.

The body is faced up; the face is craved and skinned at the chin area as if it was to have a bloody shave. The eyes are wide open, staring in fear of their killer. The neck was slice open to the point you can see the white bones on deep red blood. Connected to that, the killer craves down the chest, between the breast which are exposed with a few cuts and blood. The stomach was stabbed into multiple times in a angry matter, which makes me believe these were the first inflicted wounds. The victim's pants and underwear were pushed down to their ankles, exposing that the body was indeed female. The stab wounds travel down to the pelvic area and upper legs. Moving closer to the body, I wince at the pool of blood between her spread out legs. Why would anyone shove a knife up there?

"Why would anyone do this to her?"

"Him." Sherlock corrects me, coldly. "I already said it before, the victim is male."

I stare at the obvious not male body before me, but I do not fight it. "Well, why would anyone do this to him?"

This is overkill.

"He must have known his killer." Sherlock says, crouching down closer to the body. "No signs of a fight."

"Well, some of the stomach wounds had happened first." I point out, "They're the oldest ones made about hour ago. The killer moved down from there to..." I trail off, flushing in anger and slight embarrassment. I look up at my flatmate, who is complete withdrawn as he stares down at the body. "Are you okay?"

He doesn't look at me as he nods.

"The next door neighbor had called us." Lastrade's voice invades the quite room, "Saying she had heard fighting and screaming. She didn't call right away, though." He sighs, "She said there are always fights in the area but when she realized who's home it came from she called."

"Stupid." Sherlock mutters.

"When is the woman coming?" I stand up, looking anywhere that isn't covered with blood.

"We didn't tell her what happened yet, just to come home. She should be arriving soon."

"I should speak to her." Sherlock says, getting up fast and leaving the room.

"Hey, now wait a moment." Lastrade follows him, as do I. "I don't think you should be speaking-"

"I know him! I know the victim!" Sherlock shouts, angrily. "I've met him and his wife a few times, I should tell her instead of one of your moronic  
>teammates!"<p>

Lastrade stop following him down the stairs, in shock. I walk around him to get closer to Sherlock, growing at his outburst but not commenting it as we get outside. We stand in silence; my mind keeps going back to the gruesome death scene upstairs and to how Sherlock seemed so affected by this.

"I'm sorry your friend is gone." I start out, mostly in a whisper but Sherlock glances over to me. "No one should die like that."

"One out of twelve transgender people are murdered in a hate crime. He just so happened to be the one that does die." Sherlock sighs, out to the dark sky. The rain had finally stopped, but had left a misty haze around us. "Pure anger and hate is what killed him. The killer had to be someone he knew, someone that must have harbored the hatred for him and just waited for the right moment to strike."

"Maybe the wife knows?"

"Possibly." He nods stiffly. "I remember Anna saying she had a friend who didn't like Jake." I frown at the name of the victim, feeling a slight chill run down my spine. "Maybe he had come over, to make a truce but instead to just kill Jake." A blue car pulls up to the house; an Asian woman looks frantic as she rushes over to her home. "I'm not sure how I am going to tell her this." Sherlock sighs, putting his hands in his coat and walks to meet her half way.

This is not going to be good.

_TBC?_


End file.
